


Betrayal

by holdingtorches



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Betrayal, F/M, Fine Print, Infidelity, professor!tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 00:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16629104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdingtorches/pseuds/holdingtorches
Summary: A drabble on the possible events that happened before the beginning of Chapter 15 from Fine Print by arisanite.He saw her with someone else. What now?





	Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arisanite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisanite/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fine Print](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011413) by [arisanite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisanite/pseuds/arisanite). 



> Based on [this shiny new video](https://twitter.com/twhiddleston/status/1062789665974042624) on Tom's Twitter. The characters are from [arisanite's Fine Print](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011413/chapters/2007565). Please give it a read, it's a thing of Beauty.

He saw her. Bathed in the myriad neon lights, the Professor saw her, arm in arm with that boy she would always flutter around. Out of sight in that nearby dingy London tunnel, the Professor watched on as the boy opened the door for her. He could see the glee on her face when he did, giddily entering that trendy gastropub he was supposed to go to as well to meet his theatre friends. The boy followed soon after, closing the door as if to say that he cannot go further. As if to say that he must not go further into the world of joy she didn't find in her Professor-lover.  
  
Betrayal.  
  
Still concealed by the mouth of the tunnel, he took out his phone to text his friends that he suddenly can't make it, making some seemingly valid excuse like an influx of papers to check or preparations for a conference. At that moment, what he said really didn't matter. All the Professor could think of was her happiness, and why she wasn't happy whenever _they_ were together. With the other one, she was happy enough, despite his transparent ruse of chivalry and care that clearly masked something much more sinister. But with him, he who loved her first, she was never happy.  
  
The Professor knew there was a rupture in the structure of the relationship. He saw it. He knew he didn't start on a good note, and that beginning ripened into the sour reality of the present: that she distanced herself to find what gentleness she thought he didn't have in another man. But he _did_ care for her. If only she could open herself up to the possibility that he was so much more and so much better than the person he was during the beginning of the contract. He wanted to introduce himself to her again. He wanted her to know him not as the sexually charged panopticon that won her the chance to live her life as an MA student, but as someone who was there for her since the beginning: someone who looked out for her safety, security, and happiness and gave his all into giving her those things, not so much because she wanted those things but because she _deserved_ them.  
  
He should have seen it coming. The problem was staring him right in the face and yet he couldn't bear to read the omens. He should have been honest from the start. How difficult was it to tell her that he had always loved her, and that he had always known that he would choose her over anyone else? He found himself in front of the door of his own flat; this was his battle plan, he supposed: to retreat from the warzone and in his retreat, find victory in the fact that he still living. Living, but not _alive_.  
  
He didn't bother to turn on the lights. He felt his way through the darkness to find the house clothes he had set out before he left. Changing into them, he realised why he wasn't honest; he was terrified of losing her, and in that fear he couldn't strip down to his vulnerability as a man surrendering himself to love.

He heard the pitter-patter of rain tapping against his window, and he wondered how she was getting home safe and dry. He felt betrayed, sure, but whoever said that that was the final word? In his eyes, she may have failed him, but he knew that he had failed her as well. He wanted to stretch his arms out to her and meet her halfway. He closed his eyes, and he let the dream of building a home with her rip through him. With a shudder, he recalled how much he wanted to see the world with her eyes, to sense all that can be sensed with her hands, to think all that can be thought with her mind, to feel all that can be felt with her heart... to be called with her name and she with his.

All these dreams needed him to hope against Hope. And yet that choice to hope was a difficult one to make. The pain he felt because of the betrayal was aggravated by that nostalgic longing for something he dreamt of so much it felt like it was once his: her full trust in him, unmarred by disdain or displays of power. The reasons grew dim and yet... all those reasons could never be equal to that act of choosing her. It may be a difficult choice, but it was one he was more than willing to stand by. He had always already tied himself to that choice, and he intended to keep true it. Yes, he would always choose her, no matter what.  
  
He sat on the sofa in the darkness, thinking. He was going to change this time. To hell with this dominant façade; it clearly wasn't working, and the results demanded him to adjust accordingly. This time, he was going to be honest, both with her and with himself. He was going to love her the way only he knew how, with every fibre of his being, until his love shone through her as if her bones were glass and her skin was paper. After all, loving her was the only way he ever knew how to love.  
  
And then there was a knock at the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic in class, while reeling over the hot and fresh content that came from Tom just a few hours earlier. Incidentally, my professor had anchored our discussion on hope to the question "Kung lolokohin ka niya, papatawarin mo ba?" (If your significant other fools (cheats on) you, will you forgive him?) He asked all of us this question, and shockingly I was the only one willing to forgive as much as forgiveness is asked for.
> 
> Love is a choice. Indeed, quite a difficult one at that. In the face of misfortune, especially betrayal, continuing to choose it seems like misguided martyrdom. But maybe we're asking the wrong questions; perhaps what we should ask is not if it's difficult, but if it's valuable. If we see that value, it goes without saying that we continue to choose it, even when it's not the easiest option.


End file.
